


faux

by windsweptbonsai



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:09:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23761345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windsweptbonsai/pseuds/windsweptbonsai
Summary: stupid spider & crotchety cat
Relationships: Angel Dust/Husk (Hazbin Hotel)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 85





	faux

⠀

“ Just one time — ? “

“ Ask me again, and I’m gonna fuckin’ put you on your ass. “

“ Y’know, for as threatenin’ as ya’ wanted that to sound, I actually kinda want that — “

“ Keep talking, Dust. Keep fuckin’ talking. “

It’s nearing midnight at the Hazbin Hotel, so, per routine, the stupid spider and crotchety cat are at it again.

Neither of them had _planned_ these impromptu meetings — but with Angel tiptoeing in as late as can be, and Husk binge-drinking the night away — it seems these two keep meeting at the same intersection. 

— and, oh, doesn’t the feline want to crash his fucking car and airbag himself to unconciousness.

because Angel Dust, eight feet long and every inch of him laced with lust, doesn’t take _fuck off_ for an answer. The persistent prick’s been pestering Husk for the past half hour.

“ What’ll it take, Husky? “ 

“ First off, shut the fuck up with that nickname. “

“ Oh, what, ya’ call me _dust,_ and I can’t return the favor, Huskems? “

annoyance simmering up to his ears, the feline boils over, ambers glaring into mismatched eyes.

“ _That’s_ not sticking, y’hear me? “ he warned, a silver-steel talon pointed sharp at the arachnid. Angel holds up all four hands in a mock-surrender and pairs it with a shrug.

“ Ya’ don’t gotta be so _cranky_ all the time. Drinkin’ all that piss got ya’ permanently pissy, Husky. “

The spider’s undeterred despite Husk’s usual-sour mood. Perched up on a barstool, he leans over, his bust of fluff displayed proud atop the bar counter.

“ You’re the one sayin’ they’re fake — “ Angel purrs, “ so, c’mon, give a squeeze and say it again. “

Feathered brow twitching, it’s a miracle the feline doesn’t crack his claws into his bottle of booze. 

“ They _are_ fake. “

“ Yeah, sure. No problem givin’ a squeeze, then, right? “

“ I ain’t touching your tits — “

“ Fake tits! “

“ Whatever! “

Booze _slammed_ on the counter loud enough to wake the whole damn hotel, Husk nearly growls, his tail flickering in agitation. The spider doesn’t even flinch.

Instead, Angel spins on his barstool, nonchalance perfected. 

“ Y’know, there are people who’d pay an arm and a fuckin’ leg just to touch me, Husky. “ he starts, with a dismissive wave of his hand. “ Ya’ just scared to feel that they might be _real_ , and ya’ geezer paws haven’t gotten to cop a feel for the past millennium. “

At this point, the gambler’s deadpanned staring.

“ Y’know what — ? I bet ya’ haven’t ever touched a tit in ya’ life, or after. Ain’t no broad dumb enough to tolerate ya’ mangey mug. “

Husk’s ear twitches.

“ Either that, or ya’ only got the itty-bitty titters from loose tweens. “

He raises a paw.

“ Probably played seven minutes in heaven, and she only let ya’ touch because she couldn’t see ya’ ugly — “

— and the feline goes for the kill.

The arachnid freezes, sits up straight, when Husk _actually_ falls for his petulant taunts. Of course, Angel doesn’t _have_ breasts, so the feline’s claws go clean through ivory fur.

Still, that pawpad is resting snug over his _heart_ — and even when not obscured by pushed-up fluff, the porn star _does_ have a supple chest. Of course, the feline won’t admit it, even when he gives the gentlest of squeezes.

“ They’re fuckin’ fake, Dust. “

“ I told ya’ they were fake, Husky — “

“ What the Hell are you guys doing? “

The voice snaps both of their attentions to the hallway — and then down. 

Seems that darling little Niffty was a casualty in the feline’s earlier bottle-slamming activities. She rubs at her lonely eye, clad in a loose pajama gown.

Then, she’s staring again at the sight.

Husk, reached over the bar counter, paw settled firmly in Angel Dust’s chest fluff. The two men, wide-eye’d and statued, don’t even attempt to say anything. The cyclops stares for a long moment — before turning around swiftly, and making her way back to her room. 

A tiny hand waves, and a warning of ; “ just clean up when you’re done! “

“ THAT AIN’T WHAT THIS IS — “

“ Sure thing, pipsqueak — ! “

Both said in unison, crotchety cat and stupid spider respectively.

**Author's Note:**

> im not a writer but i love these idiots


End file.
